


How Can I Carry This Burden (When I'm Drowning Beneath My Own)

by StrappingYoungLass



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Drowning, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OT3, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, author is autistic, no beta we die like the cowards we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrappingYoungLass/pseuds/StrappingYoungLass
Summary: Like most missions, something tends to go wrong. Sometimes that thing isn't even in the heat of it all.Gaby goes missing, Illya and Napoleon rescue her.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller
Kudos: 28





	How Can I Carry This Burden (When I'm Drowning Beneath My Own)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is one of those fics. I'm merely an angsty teenager who can't write.
> 
> Trigger warning: Near-drowning and mild blood

She's shaking as they pull her from the water. Gagging and coughing as her head breaks the surface. Her eyes are closed as they gently lay her on the floor, Illya holding her neck still.

Sitting in the blood of the man who held her underwater isn't the most ideal place to release the handcuffs, Napoleon thinks. But he doesn't say anything as he rubs her wrists in an attempt to get blood flowing.

Her lips are blue, slightly parted, but they can hear her soft gasps. The American sighs in relief, knowing that CPR isn't needed.

Going through a mental checklist in his head, Illya finds it safe enough to release her neck to carry her. These men may have been cowards and ruthless, but he doubts they would've done anything to damage her spine.

***

Sitting in the back of the car, Gaby leaned up against him, Illya stares. He can't help it, she's pale and shivering, nearly swallowed up by his coat that he wrapped around her. He can't help but count each inhale and exhale.

Even when his gun was trained at the forehead of the man keeping Gaby's head under the water, Illya couldn't help but notice the puddle already formed around the tub. _So, not first round of torture_. He hadn't even realized he had pulled the trigger until the man slumped to the ground, the Russian's gun silencer smoking.

The mechanic had gone missing three days prior, next to him one moment, gone the next. Not a trace of her to be found except for her left heel. Even sitting in the back of the car, Illya can see she still has the right one on.

Glancing up, the Russian can see Solo looking back at them from the rear view. He can tell the man is just as worried for her, but they needed a driver and Illya silently communicated he was staying the back seat with her.

The car rolls to a stop, nearly stalling in the Americans haste to open the door for them. On the outside he looks calm, but Illya can see the way his hands shake.

Carefully, Napoleon goes around to the other side and carefully reaches around Gaby's back to hold her upright as the Russian slips out the other side. His hands are careful as he slides them under her knees and just under her shoulders.

The lobby is deserted when they walk in, a fact that both men are grateful for. Both were too worried about their third to come up with a plausible excuse about their appearances.

***

The elevator dings softly as it reaches their floor; doors sliding open silently. Illya checks his watch to see that it is just after two in the morning as Napoleon walks away.

The first thing Illya notices is that the door to their room is unlocked, but the hair he placed at the threshold is still there. _"Sloppy,"_ Illya mutters to himself. His hands are shaking, whether in fear or rage he doesn't know.

He has no idea the outcome of tonight had they not been there. Would the man have done more rounds? Or just drowned Gaby before the break of the new day? He doesn't know and that's what scares him.

KGB agents do not get scared, he scolds himself. But KGB agents do not fall in love either, let alone with a man and a woman. But he's not KGB anymore, is he? U.N.C.L.E may be new and only have the three of them in the room as members, but he knows he will never go back to the way it was. He has too much to lose now.

The creak of the couch as Solo places Gaby down on the soft material drags him out of his thoughts. She's gained more color in her skin and her breathing sounds less labored. Still, she shivers, either from shock or the cold he doesn't know. He doesn't feel like he knows anything tonight except for the fact that they're all here and that they're all safe. And that's enough for now.

***

Napoleon makes himself busy by finding extra blankets. He's not sure what's going through the Russian giants head at the moment, but he doesn't think it's anger. The man's fingers aren't tapping and he hasn't thrown any furniture.

There's a gasp from the couch and he watches as Illya seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in. Even after he's kneeled next to the prone figure, Napoleon can't help but think that the man is still huge. He shudders to think what the Russian might've done had Gaby been killed tonight.

***

Exhausted, bloodshot brown eyes gaze up at him and he swallows nervously. How close had they come to losing her tonight? He doesn't even want to know.

She's smiling he notices. Nearly drowned and still she smiles at him. Only his little chop shop girl would do that.

"I do not know what you are smiling at. Nothing to smile about, being kidnapped and tortured."

She hums nonchalantly, as if the thought hadn't even come to mind. "Who said I'm smiling about that? Can't a girl just smile?"

Illya glares at her, a look she takes as, "that is stupid idea." What he says isn't too far off either. "No, especially not one who nearly drowned."

"'Nearly' is the key word there."

"Nearly is still too much. It should never have happened." He doesn't mean to get angry at her- it wasn't her fault that she got kidnapped- his emotions had been too high strung these past few days.

She hums again, eyes slipping closed. Illya moves to stand, but her hand shoots out, grabbing his own. He's reminded of that night so many months ago and can't help the small smile that forms.

"Rest, little chop shop. I will stay here." So, he does. He turns his body so that he can sit up against the couch, not once letting her fingers slip from his grasp.

Napoleon smiles at the two, shaking his head as he lays a blanket over Gaby. They'll need to check and clean any wounds she might have, but for now he'll let them rest.


End file.
